


Against Dark and Chilly Nights

by keelywolfe



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Bilbo needed any proof that summer had cast the last of its honeyed warmth over the world, he supposed that this night would be it. The faint nip in the air had deepened into a biting chill when the sun fell below the horizon, and with no fire to drive back the cold, Bilbo found he was missing his bedroll rather fiercely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against Dark and Chilly Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Just because Avelera asked about it, here’s one from my fic folder that I've just never cleaned up and posted. Nothing but fluffy smut, here. I probably wrote this not long after AUJ came out and just never finished it until now. *G*

* * *

If Bilbo needed any proof that summer had cast the last of its honeyed warmth over the world, he supposed that this night would be it. The faint nip in the air had deepened into a biting chill when the sun fell below the horizon, and with no fire to drive back the cold, Bilbo found he was missing his bedroll rather fiercely.

But then, he supposed the others were as well, considering that they had all lost most of their belongings down in the goblin tunnels. Escaping with their lives had been paramount, of course, and wishing for just one threadbare blanket seemed indulgent in comparison.

It didn't quite stop Bilbo from wishing, but he did keep his complaint to himself.

Not that anyone else would have heard it if he hadn't. While the fingernail edge of the moon offered little light, the snores carrying on the night air told exactly how much the cold was not bothering his fellow travelers. Of course, exhaustion had a way of pushing aside the finer complaints and to the Dwarves, the chill seemed to be a minor one.

If only Bilbo could manage the same.

The night carried on through his fretful, shivering sleep and the moon was swanning low in sky when Bilbo heard a thump behind him, the warmth of a body close, and felt the heavy drape of a coat over him.

"Oh, no, thank you," Bilbo tried to sit up and failed, a large hand hauling him back down.

"Be silent." Thorin whispered against his ear. He was lovely and warm and it was tempting but—

"Honestly, I’ll be fine—" Bilbo protested, a touch weakly.

"I said, be quiet."

"Actually, you didn't, you said—" A hand settled over his mouth, briefly hard before it relaxed. "Fine, then," Bilbo said crossly. "If you insist I suppose we can share for the night."

"Does quiet mean something different to Hobbits than it does to the rest of Middle-earth." It was not so much a question as an idle observation.

"You haven’t complained about the noise all the others are making. Balin made Bombur sleep far from the cliff’s edge because he was afraid he might start an avalanche with his snoring."

"They are making sleeping sounds," Thorin murmured, close to his ear. "You are making talking sounds. I’d prefer if you’d switch to the former."

"I hadn't realized you had a preference over the types of sounds I make." Bilbo paused. "Oh. I didn’t mean…that is…."

Silent laughter shook him as Thorin pressed his forehead against the back of Bilbo’s neck. “Do you see, if you’d kept to your silence, you would have been better for it.”

Bilbo squirmed, trying to shift away. Thorin was very nearly breathing down the back of his shirt and it was dreadfully ticklish. “You’re the one who is so terribly concerned about the sounds I’m making.”

One strong arm circled his waist, pulling him up tight against Thorin, “And now you can be still! By the anvil, I think I preferred your chatter.”

"Be silent, be still," Bilbo muttered. "Do you have any other requests this evening or shall I try to get some sleep?"

"Ask me that again when we aren’t in the company of others," Thorin whispered, low, and gave Bilbo a rough squeeze.

Oh, well, then. “Oh,” Bilbo said softly.

Behind him, Thorin went still, “Oh?” he asked with soft wariness.

"What if…" Bilbo swallowed, then rushed out, daringly. "What if I’d rather hear your answer now?"

The warm breath on the back of his neck stuttered, ceased, then resumed, hot and damp. “You…”

"Trollop?" Bilbo ventured. "Tart? Whore? I’m afraid I don’t know much of the way of vulgar talk."

Behind him, he could feel a quiver run through Thorin, a barely restrained thrum and realized indignantly that the Dwarf was trying not to laugh. Terribly conscious of the others snoring around them, Bilbo tried again to pull away, struggling with all the silent fury that he could, though it was all for naught. He might have been fighting the very ground itself for all the good it did him.

"Hush," Thorin soothed. The hand that wasn't tight around Bilbo’s waist was stroking his hair as though he were a little pet and Bilbo swore if it came close enough, Thorin would learn that his pet was not tamed and had teeth. "Hush, now, you needn’t be angry with me."

"I do not need you to tell me who I should or should not be angry with," Bilbo gritted out sullenly.

"I did not call you any name at all," Thorin reminded him, "And those you called yourself were hardly appropriate." A soft touch against the back of his neck made Bilbo squirm, drawing in a sharp breath as he realized Thorin had pressed a kiss to the tender skin there. "I thought to call you a tease, but I think I was wrong. Was I?"

The weight of his hand against Bilbo shifted, resting low on his belly and Bilbo made a tiny sound in his throat, surprise and pleading as one.

"No, not wrong," Thorin whispered, his tone smug, and perhaps Bilbo might have elbowed him firmly and put an end to this simply for that. If his hand hadn’t drifted lower, shaping itself around the hard press of his cock against the front of his trousers. If the pressure of his mouth hadn't moved, his beard a pleasant scrape against his cheek as Thorin kissed below his ear, his tongue a lovely, slick touch.

Bilbo was reminded that Dwarves were known for their skill with their hands, and though perhaps the weapon Thorin was grasping wasn't quite the same as the hilt of a sword, Thorin showed his talents nonetheless. His fingers were nimble on the buttons of his trousers and Bilbo’s relieved sigh was captured in a hot mouth, a hand on his chin tipping his head so that Thorin might kiss him at the same moment another hand tightened around him.

His soft cry was caught in a kiss, the thickness of a broad thumb rubbing relentlessly through the slickness gilding the tip. Thorin’s grip was nearly too-tight, his mouth rough and biting, and Bilbo should have been appalled at his lack of care. Nothing about it should have drawn moans from him that must be muffled in yet another harsh kiss, nothing about it should have had him shifting in Thorin’s arms, biting off whimpers as he fought with Thorin’s clothing, opening them only enough to bare him and then Bilbo could squirm in closer, pressing them together with his hand and Thorin’s twined together.

The way Thorin’s beard scraped his cheeks as they kissed made Bilbo wonder wildly how he would look in the morning, would the others look at his raw cheeks and know? Would he care if they did? The sound Thorin made rumbled deep in his chest, his hips pushing into their shared grasp and Bilbo wished in that moment for a bit more light. In his hand, Thorin’s cock felt thick and heavy, stout, so much like he himself was and Bilbo wanted to see that it sliding in their combined grip. Wanted to watch the glide of the foreskin that he could feel over the head, wanted so terribly much to see Thorin’s face, were his eyes closed, his face tight with pleasure, were they open, those blue eyes watching him.

In the end, Bilbo’s desperate wish could only be unfulfilled. He could only sigh quietly as he came, spurting hot over their hands, slickening their grip and Bilbo shifted his hand until he only held Thorin, stroking with quick, tight pulls until he growled, low in his throat, and added his own seed to Bilbo’s.

Chill air was coiling against his back where his trousers hung loose and the feel of it made Bilbo squirm closer yet, the mess against their bellies and hands a minor complaint in comparison. A rough cloth appeared from somewhere, wiping the cooling slickness from his hand before Thorin caught the edge of his cloak and pulled it more snugly around them, until no tiny pocket existed for cold to poke its chilly fingers through.

"Now will you sleep?" Thorin murmured, his own exhaustion heavy in his voice.

"Perhaps," Bilbo told him, sleepily, and felt the drowsy chuckle against his cheek as he buried his face into Thorin’s shirt. The mail was hard and unyielding but body-warm. Acceptable, as pillows went but acceptable or not, it would have to serve. The gentle thud of Thorin’s heartbeat was a low rhythm in Bilbo’s ear, soothing him down and when Bilbo drifted in sleep, he was not cold at all.

-finis-


End file.
